I’m ready to live a life that others will be uncomfortable with, to be bold, radical, and thoroughly uncooperative with anything and anyone who tries to tone me down or make me settle for a diluted version of myself.
I’m ready to be forthright, outspoken and controversial, ready to lose friends and make enemies, ready to feel the barbs of criticism, even derision. I’m willing to take 100% ownership of my visions, goals and aspirations, making no concession to cynicism or small-mindedness, neither mine nor other people’s.
To hell with timidity. To hell with worn out excuses for being small, ineffective and powerless. To hell with the kind of surrender that masks a limp, fatalistic resignation to “what will be will be“. And to hell with pious ideals of non-attachment that simply shield me from the risk of aiming high and missing.
I would vastly prefer to aim high, fail and feel piercing disappointment and grief because of it than to aim low (or not aim at all) then feebly acquiesce to the “hand of destiny”.
Look, I’m not delusional. I know that to a breath my whole existence lies far more in destiny’s hand than my own. But the hand of destiny doesn’t squeeze the life out of me. On the contrary, it holds and steadies me, points a way forward, lifts me and propels me. With a seeking smile, it offers itself to me and beckons: “Dance?”